


will we feel the same?

by groundopenwide



Series: holding on for dear life [2]
Category: Bastille (Band)
Genre: Drunken Confessions, Friendship, M/M, Unrequited Love, happy bday holding on for dear life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-09
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-03-15 00:41:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29305182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/groundopenwide/pseuds/groundopenwide
Summary: But that’s just it, isn’t it? Dan's always been pretty shit at being in love.(the nightclub scene inholding on for dear lifefrom dan’s pov.)
Relationships: Charlie Barnes/Dan Smith, Kyle Simmons/Dan Smith (one-sided)
Series: holding on for dear life [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2152383
Comments: 9
Kudos: 15





	will we feel the same?

**Author's Note:**

> it's officially been a year since i posted [holding on for dear life](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22637593), aka my magnum opus, so here's an angsty little interlude to celebrate!
> 
> this takes place during the nightclub scene, after charlie ends things with dan in san francisco. in the original fic outline, i had this note re: charlie seeing dan kiss kyle: _(of course, charlie doesn’t see the part where kyle pushes dan away, or them getting into an argument, or dan realizing—oh. i don’t know why i did that. i don’t want to do that anymore. i only want to do it with charlie)._ i decided to run with it.
> 
> if this is confusing, well...you should probably go back and read the first fic. enjoy!!

Dan’s not sure what drives him to finally kiss Kyle.

Maybe it’s the alcohol. Maybe it’s the pulse of adrenaline that always comes with the end of a tour. Maybe it’s the prismacolor lights or the bass vibrating through him like a prayer. Maybe it’s because Charlie hasn’t looked him in the eye since San Francisco.

Years of staying quiet, of biting his tongue and swallowing his feelings like a cheap shot of vodka and letting them burn all the way down. It’s been fine. Perfectly fine. Living every second of his life in Kyle’s shadow—it’s painful but comfortable, like a chronic twinge in the knee developed from years of running. Every smile and every friendly touch a familiar ache. He’s in love, but he’s coping. Alive on the outside, dead on the inside.

But that’s just it, isn’t it? He’s always been pretty shit at being in love.

(Can he even use the word “always” when there’s only ever been one person? Seems a bit presumptuous. An exaggeration. As if he’s barreled his way through relationship after relationship, as if his heart bears the bruises and scars of a life of turmoil. And sure, his heart’s been through the wringer, but not thanks to a string of liars or cheaters or failed dates. His heart’s only known Kyle. Just Kyle.

‘Till now.)

That’s the one thing about love, though, that Dan’s only just now figuring out—it fades. It’s sticky like melted ice cream, clings to you in a way that’s almost uncomfortable, until you run your hands under a tap and it all washes away, just like that.

Kissing Kyle is like putting his hands—no, his whole head—right into the stream of water. The sudden coldness of it cracks through him like a whip. The years of hurting and loving and hurting some more, they glide right off of him and circle the drain below, slipping away. Dan opens his eyes, and for the first time in ages, he can see. He can see what’s been right in front of him this whole time:

Charlie.

Hands on his shoulders. They push him away, but gently. 

(Kyle’s always gentle, even when Dan doesn’t deserve it. It’s one of the reasons he’s held on for so long—the comfort.  _ I’ll never hurt you. Not intentionally.) _

“What are you doing?” Kyle asks him.

“I don’t know,” Dan says. “I don’t know.”

The music pounds in his ears. Kyle is staring at him, chest heaving up and down. His forehead glistens with sweat and his lips are wet.

_ I can’t do this anymore,  _ Charlie’s voice rings through Dan’s head.  _ I can’t, I can’t, I can’t— _

“I fucked up, Kyle,” Dan says.

“Hey,” Kyle says, and his voice is soft, so soft, the noise of the club nearly drowning it out, “it’s alright. Come on, let’s—”

The air outside is still and quiet. Dan’s ears feel like they’ve got cotton stuffed inside of them. He sits down right there on the curb, drops his head into his hands and breathes in, everything inside of him trembling. He feels Kyle sit down beside him, their legs brushing.

“Dan.” A warm hand settles between his shoulder blades. “What’s going on, mate?”

_ I’ve loved you forever. I’ve loved you for so long I forgot what it was like to love anyone else. There hasn’t been  _ **_room_ ** _ to love anyone else. But now there’s this space inside of me, and it’s so big and empty and I don’t know how to fill it—well, I know how to fill it, but I don’t know if I can— _

“I’ve been hooking up with Charlie,” he says.

Kyle is quiet. Then: “I know.”

“You do?”

“Yeah.” A pause. “You guys weren’t very subtle.”

“Right,” Dan says, the word hollow. 

_ (I like hanging out with you. Is that so crazy? _

There’d been freckles on Charlie’s nose that day, more prominent than usual thanks to the weight of the LA sun. No wonder Dan hadn’t been able to resist him. 

_ Not crazy,  _ Charlie says now, glowing in Dan’s mind’s eye. _ Not at all.) _

Kyle drops his hand back to his own side. When Dan looks over, he’s staring at his feet, which are stretched into the street in front of them. “You’re my best mate, Dan. I’d follow you to the fucking ends of the Earth. But I can’t—I don’t—”

Dan’s brain turns to static. 

_ He knows. He knows. How does he know?  _

“Don’t say it,” Dan blurts. “I know what you’re going to say. Don’t say it.”

Kyle looks pained. “I’m—”

“And don’t be sorry. Don’t, Kyle, I mean it.”

“But I am,” Kyle’s voice breaks. “I  _ am _ sorry. I should have known.”

“It wouldn’t have mattered,” Dan says.

They’re too drunk for this conversation. Dan can still taste Kyle, the tang of lime and gin sharp on his tongue. It should excite him, should make his knees weak and his brain hazy, but—

He thinks about Charlie. That night after Coachella. How he smelled like desert sand. How he kissed with his whole body. How he looked the next morning, swimming in Dan’s clothes with a pillow crease on his cheek and sleepy warmth in his eyes.

“I shouldn’t have kissed you,” he tells Kyle. “I don’t think I wanted to. Not really.”

“Then why did you?”

“To prove something to myself, maybe? I don’t know.” Dan shakes his head. “I was in love with you for so long. I just—”

He doesn’t realize, at first, that he’s spoken the words out loud. It’s just another sentence, another  _ hello  _ or  _ how are you  _ or  _ sing this one with me if you know it. _ Nothing special, nothing groundbreaking. He says the words and they don’t cut him up like shards of glass on the way out.

Kyle smiles. It’s sad and a bit strained, but real, pushing up the skin around the corners of his eyes.

“What about Charlie?” he asks.

“What about him?”

“How do you feel about him?”

Dan scrubs his hands over his eyes. Where to start? How to put it into words?  _ In the beginning he reminded me of you. Now I know I had it all wrong. He’s quiet _ _. Smarter than you’d think. His eyes are greener up close and he laughs the same way he plays music, with his whole heart.  _

_ When he looks at me I’m not anxious or insecure or afraid. I feel important. Not like I do onstage, with everyone staring and yelling and singing along, but important on a singular, molecular level—like in that moment I matter. Not my music or my words or my actions. Just me. _

“I think I—” Dan starts. Stops.

Kyle sees right through him—he always does. 

“Tell him. Bottling that stuff up inside—it’s no good.”

“Yeah. Think I’m figuring that out.”

Kyle smiles again. This time, Dan smiles back.


End file.
